Scarred
by Random Slytherin 1
Summary: Pansy obssesses over something new, and her target is completely unawares. femmeslash. Pansy/Hermione


_Title:_ Scarred

_Author:_ Keiran Shea (RandomSlytherin@yahoo.com)  
_Rating:_ PG for pretty femmeslash, and a bit of violence  
_Warnings:_ none  
_Spoilers:_ Who took whom to the Yule ball o.o  
_Notes:_ I needed to write this. I absl-bloody-lutely LOVE this pairing, even if it's so hard to find.   
_Dedication:_ for Beth, who IS Hermione, and who's scar gave me the inspiration to write this

  
It was an accident, really, how she came to notice the scar.  
  
Not the scar that everyone else noticed; she could care less about Harry-sodding-Potter and his stupid lightening-bolt shaped scar. Truth be told, she could rally care less about boys in general. Sure she'd gone with Draco to the Yule Ball back in fourth year, but she would have been much happier on the arm of Blaise Zabini, her dorm mate and sometimes-friend.   
  
The scar in question was highly intriguing, almost as much so as the person to whom the scar belonged. It had appeared, she suspected, during the summer between their fourth and fifth years, as she could not recall ever seeing it before. Or perhaps, she thought, it had been there the whole time, yet she'd simply not cared enough to notice.  
  
It was a small, thin line that neatly cleaved the right side of the upper lip and ran up to just under the nose. And the mere thought of it was enough to drive Pansy absolutely insane.   
  
From her vantage point in the Potions classroom she could see it, hovering on lips that always held the answers, but were never called upon. It was there, in the dungeons one day, that she first noticed it. They had been a good two weeks into their firth year before Professor Snape had actually allowed Hermione Granger to answer a question, and Pansy turned slightly in her chair next to Blaise to sneer at the Gryffindor girl.  
  
She hadn't meant to look at Hermione's lips; they had just been there and had been speaking so eloquently, as they were wont to do. The look of contempt that pansy gave to all Gryffindors had slowly changed to one of curiosity when she noted that tiny little scar. So much smaller than Potter's, yet it stood out in her mind like nothing else. She felt Blaise shoving an elbow into her ribs; oh, she'd been caught staring, hadn't she? Pansy quickly averted her eyes. It wouldn't do any good to be caught staring so intently at another girl, especially one from their rival House.   
  
Later she found herself rather perturbed to admit -even to herself- that Hermione had grown up and filled out rather nicely. No longer was she the skinny little Muggle-cum-Witch with frizzy hair and buckteeth that Pansy had taken such pleasure in glaring at when they had been eleven. She'd blossomed into a lovely young thing with sleek curls and smooth curves that Pansy quickly found tended to haunt her dreams in one way or another.  
  
And that damned scar that loved to mock her so!  
  
They shared only two classes, and in both of them Pansy had to forcefully remind herself not to stare at the other girl, had to chide herself mentally each time the, for even a fleeting moment, she allowed her mind to pause upon that scar and wonder about its origins. When her thoughts finally turned to questioning what it might be like to touch that scar she was nearly ready to throw herself off the top of the Astronomy Tower.   
  
She wanted to run the pads of her fingers over that small imperfection, that tiny flaw, and see if it was as smooth as she imagined. She wanted to questions its origins, ask why anyone of the Magical community might have a scar when anything could be easily enough fixed by magic. She knew that it had to have happened at home; Hermione's parents were Muggles, and under aged Witches and Wizards were not allowed to do magic outside of Hogwarts.   
  
More than anything, Pansy longed to taste that scar, to run her tongue over that small indent, press her lips to the ones that held and it see for herself whether or not a Mudblood tasted the same as a Pureblood. She imagined that somehow they would taste slightly different; a little less magical, maybe a bit more salty. She was quite sure that should she vocalize that question to any of the Muggle-loving Gryffindors they would vehemently deny any difference, but really, she would prefer to find out on her own. Pansy made it a habit never to listen to anything that a Gryffindor said.  
  
It pained her to see Hermione smile. She would see that smile twice a week in Care of Magical Creatures, and again in a double-dose of Potions, yet it was never for her. Always that scarred smile was directed towards another Gryffindor, most often Weasley or Potter. Inside Pansy died just a bit when she saw that smile, or even when she caught a quick glimpse of that scar from the corner of her eye.   
  
That same smile was mocking her now, teasing her once again from across the Potions classroom. It teased her, taunted her, called out her name then laughed in her face.  
  
It made her want to rip that smile right off Hermione's face, nails clawing, scratching, tearing. She wanted to see blood running down that face, pouring forth from scratches made fro her own silver-painted nails. She wanted to make new scars on that face, new indentions to mar that simple beauty. She could almost hear herself already, laughing, laughing so hard as she watched the tears mix with blood.  
  
She had to do something…anything…she didn't know yet what, but she knew that it had to be soon. Now. No, not now, there was another ten minutes left of class, so she couldn't do anything just yet. But soon, so soon. She could feel her heart pounding, her mind racing with plots and plans. What to do? Corner her after class? That would be easy enough; lunch was next, so neither of them would be late to a class. But what about after that? What to say, what to do? Her mother's lessons had never taught her how to woo another girl.  
  
Did she even want to woo her? Was it a matter of love? Most likely not. Not love, and probably not even like…but there was some lust, if nothing else. Most of all there was curiosity, a burning desire to learn everything possible about that scar and possibly even the girl behind it. The minutes ticked by like hours, eternities, mocking her as if to say that they would never let her out of class, never give her this chance that she needed. She glared at the clock sitting in front of the room, willing it to speed up. She would beat that clock…she was nothing if not ambitious, and damned if she wasn't going to get what she wanted.  
  
Another minute…thirty seconds… She had no idea what Snape had been saying the last half of class. None of that was important. All that mattered was…now! Class dismissed, and she rushed out with the crowd. However, as they all left for lunch, Pansy lingered by the door, awaiting her prey.   
  
"Granger." Good, good. Her voice was calm, steady. "Come over here, won't you?" She stood just outside the door, smiling inwardly; Hermione had stayed after a few minutes to ask something of Snape, and the halls were now empty. They were alone, so alone… Would she be able to do this?  
  
"Yes?"   
  
Hermione was obviously rather curious; it wasn't every day that a Slytherin would call a Gryffindor out for a 'friendly chat.' Good, let her wonder. Pansy had surely had her fair share of wondering. "You have a scar." Smooth. Perhaps she would be throwing herself off the Astronomy Tower after all. No matter now though….  
  
Pull her in, shove her against the wall. Laugh at the surprise on her face, and ignore those protests. They aren't important.  
  
"Pansy, what on earth are you doing?"  
  
Was she scared? Yes? Good. The way she should be. Her breath hitched, her eyes were wide and confused.  
  
Pansy could feel the rush of power. Strong. Raw. Wonderful. A slender hand lifted to run along Hermione's face, a gentle caress of sharp nails. She leaned in, breaths mingling together in soft puffs of white that formed in the frigid dungeon atmosphere. No words, no need.  
  
Only lips over lips, touching, tasting, taking more than giving. A pink tongue that snaked out to trace violently over that scar that had been haunting her for so long. Nice, soft, like a girl should be. Soft, smooth, slightly moist from nervous licking. Lips, tongue, teeth, scar… A short, violent duel for domination that Pansy quickly won. A quick slide of hands down over the swell of breasts, down gentle curves to pull hips close before pushing away.   
  
Walk away, calmly; rejection can't come to those who can't hear it. Rather tasty for a Mudblood, not nearly as dirty as she'd imagined.  
  
The scar belonged to her now.   
  
  
Owari.

11.22.02

I don't like the way it ended, really. In fact, I didn't like the entire last half. ^_^; But, well…there you have it. Damn, I love femmeslash… Too bad there isn't more of it..  
  
-=Keiran Shea=-  
-a rather pleased Random Sytherin


End file.
